


If we don't kill each other first...

by kaalee



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mystery, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-23
Updated: 2007-09-23
Packaged: 2018-10-26 15:00:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10789056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaalee/pseuds/kaalee
Summary: Post Hogwarts: Ron finds Draco left for dead and is assigned to try to heal him. [Ron/Draco]





	If we don't kill each other first...

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** This story is much longer and plottier than I'd originally intended. It was written for [](http://off-that-fic.livejournal.com/profile)[**off_that_fic**](http://off-that-fic.livejournal.com/) in [](http://community.livejournal.com/hp_springsmut/profile)[**hp_springsmut**](http://community.livejournal.com/hp_springsmut/)'s 2006 exchange. I've rewritten one of the scenes since it was posted, because it didn't feel fleshed out enough after letting it sit for a bit. Many thanks to [](http://zionsstarfish.livejournal.com/profile)[**zionsstarfish**](http://zionsstarfish.livejournal.com/), [](http://elucreh.livejournal.com/profile)[**elucreh**](http://elucreh.livejournal.com/), [](http://danijo1.livejournal.com/profile)[**danijo1**](http://danijo1.livejournal.com/), [](http://thenotoriousso4.livejournal.com/profile)[**thenotoriousso4**](http://thenotoriousso4.livejournal.com/), & [](http://mpuppet.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://mpuppet.livejournal.com/)**mpuppet** [who still doesn't consider herself a beta :P] for every bit of help and support as this story grew _far_ beyond what I'd been planning to write. You all rock my world. ♥

:~:

 

The scent of blood is thick as they walk through the field, wands held loosely, nonchalantly at their sides. The gravel crunches at their feet where the grass has been scorched away by angry hexes. Ron is reminded again of how like blood it smells.

Or perhaps, he thinks, he's been associating the two for so long that they've become irrevocably linked.

They make unconscious assessments as they move through bodies: an unnatural splay - dead; a curious trickle of blood from the corner of a mouth - worth a second look. They've both learned that bodies expel odd noises after they're dead and Ron can now tell these noises apart without thinking.

"Hey," Harry says, pointing his wand.

Ron says, "Yeah," turning toward a crumpled mound. It's odd how in this field things are robbed of colour, and the damp, pale skin of this body is no different. Damp though, Ron thinks when they get close enough. Damp generally means-

"Live one," Harry mutters.

Ron only nods. Something about the dirtied, bloodied hair is familiar, but new somehow in a way that Ron can't fathom, and he's almost tender as he points his wand to mutter a spell that creates a seal over his hand to protect himself and the body.

The body.

Ron sometimes hates how he uses such clinical, detached terms. His mother used to purse her lips and frown at him when he talked to her about work. She'd say things like this: "The dead were once people, too. You'll do well to remember that, Ronald Weasley."

He'd stopped talking to his mother about work after that.

Squatting, Ron skims the length of the body - _person_! - and takes a deep breath. This doesn't really get any easier. Particularly not when his mind keeps wandering to random memories that don't help with the task at hand.

He sighs and slides his hand under the slim stomach, feeling around for wounds or debris that might be stuck to the body. Gently, he slips his hand upward until he can gain purchase on a bony shoulder, then he turns the body over.

"Malfoy," Ron breathes, " _Fuck._ "

:~:

It isn't really news that Draco Malfoy is on the short list of _Bring back alive, but don't feel the need to hurry._ They've spelled him onto a small stretcher that floats along in front of them, just above the ground, as they walk.

"How the hell did this one show up here?" Ron says later, when there are five floating in front of them. His hand is tingling slightly and he's trying not to let it alarm him.

"Hmmm?" Harry turns absently.

"Malfoy," Ron says, poking the unresponsive figure with the toe of his boot and frowning. He feels a lot less tender toward Malfoy now that he remembers all of the taunting the bastard had done over their years at school. "How do you think he got here?"

"Dunno," Harry answers after a minute. "This was a Death Eater raid; I can't see why he'd be one of the wounded."

Ron frowns again. "Doesn't make sense."

"Maybe they were done with needing him, so they sent him here to die."

"Didn't work," Ron says.

"Not yet."

:~:

It's always Susan Bones who meets them when they come in from the field, no matter what time of day. Ron has started to think she never goes home. But then he remembers the massacre to which she'd come home last year, in addition to losing her aunt before sixth year, and thinks maybe he'd spend all his time at work, too.

"How many?" Susan says curtly, opening the deep green registry book and lifting her quill. When she gazes at Harry, Ron sees a small flicker of something in her eyes. It's gone almost immediately, but Ron's quite sure it was there. He looks back and forth between them for a moment, noting Harry's small smile.

Harry isn't much for meaningful relationships, but it sure would be nice to get him off of his bloody sofa for a change.

:~:

They press their wands against the entry patch on the door to _Inritus_ and walk inside with the immobile figures that they've now been guarding for five and a quarter hours.

"Malfoy?" Healer Valoria Trickle asks immediately when they enter.

Ron laughs and says, "Nah, Potter and Weasley. We look nothing like him." But he gets nothing for his attempt at humour. Harry smirks at Trickle's utter lack of reaction and inclines his head toward the clipboard.

"Yeah, it's Malfoy," Ron grunts, emptying his pockets of the notes they took in the field. "He's the first we found, but the least responsive of the lot."

"I'll have to ask the supervisor what the Ministry wants to do with him. The other ones you can just leave here and I'll do some tests before transferring them to the appropriate division."

"He won't move," Harry says. "We tried a bunch of spells."

Ron looks down at the unmoving body closest to him. His own body is warm for some reason, worked up from all of the walking, most likely.

"And nothing worked?" Trickle asks, walking around Malfoy's body, prodding it with her wand. She gets to Malfoy's head and pauses. "That seems strange."

"Ron tried to revive him with a _Curatio_ spell."

"He did?" Trickle looks up sharply and turns to look at Ron. "You used the _Curatio_ spell?"

Ron looks at her, wondering why she's speaking so sharply. "What? No, I just-"

She purses her lips and cocks her head. She looks so much like his mother at that moment that Ron feels about twelve and like he got caught nicking dessert before supper.

"Mr Weasley, did you or did you not use the _Curatio_ spell?"

It's moments like this when Ron hates that his father has worked at the Ministry for his entire life; so many different Ministry workers have been to the Burrow and seen Ron in different states of undress or other embarrassing moments. When Valoria Trickle looks at him now, he can only think of the time when she witnessed him attempting to mimic Muggle fireworks and only succeeding in burning off his own eyebrows.

Rubbing his left eyebrow unconsciously, Ron nods. "Yeah, but-"

Harry interrupts him, "Look, Mrs Trickle, it worked. At least somewhat. Malfoy moved after Ron touched him, but he's not moving now."

"Malfoy _moved_?"

Ron wonders how Valoria Trickle got to such a high ranking position when all she seems to do is parrot conversation back to them.  
  
"Can we not talk about this here?" he asks, impatiently, looking down at Malfoy. He has the strangest feeling that Malfoy can hear everything that's going on.

"You'd prefer we adjourn to a fancy office with plush chairs, Mr Weasley?"

"No, I just-" he falters. "Not in front of him," he says, indicating Malfoy.

"What? He can't hear us, won't respond to us. Not even if we-" She reaches out toward Malfoy's hair with her wand and Ron instinctively blocks it, the backs of his knuckles brushing Malfoy's skin and he feels a tingling shock of warmth flow through him again, making him breathless.

A slight stirring wrinkles the fabric over Malfoy's body and he sighs softly.

There's a brief silence when all three of them look at each other and then they all turn to look at Malfoy again.

"What was that about?" Trickle asks.

Ron frowns and stares down at Malfoy, his eyebrows furrowed, "I don't... know."

:~:

"There's probably nothing to worry about," Dean tells him later. "It's a fluke or something. They don't know enough about what happens to wizards when they're under the influence of different curses."

"Yeah, I wouldn't worry," Seamus says. "Probably just Malfoy tryin' to get back at you for something. He probably knows everything that's going on."

Ron shifts in his seat; he's pretty confident they're both wrong, but it sure is nice to have people tell him he's right for a change.

Harry walks in, frazzled, and they all turn to look at him. "It never ends," he sighs.

"Do they still think I've got some weird psychic power over Malfoy?" Ron asks.

"Yeah," Harry says. "I told them psychic Seers don't spend their teenaged years wanting to throttle the object of their abilities, but Trickle just shook her head and then the council raised their eyebrows."

"I can't believe they let yeh out," Seamus says. "Generally, their inquiries last forever."

Harry snorts and waves a waitress over to order a lager. "They didn't let me out. I left."

:~:

"You've got to be bloody kidding me," Ron says incredulously, ignoring the voice in his head sounding suspiciously like his mother saying, _Ronald. Language._ "You don't seriously expect me to pull Malfoy out of this."

"We don't know, Mr Weasley," the Healer tells him solemnly. "But Draco Malfoy could be of great use to the Ministry and we have to try everything we can."  
  
"I just don't see how I'm going to be of use."

"Mr Weasley," the Healer says again, while the other three Ministry officials behind her nod like they no longer have control over their necks, "You remain the only one who has been able to evoke any sort of response from Mr Malfoy. We recognize that it will be hard to lose one of our field workers, but we're willing to do so in the hopes that you'll be able to help Mr Malfoy."

"This is insane."

"There's a fine line between insanity and brilliance, Mr Weasley."

"Let me know when you locate it," Ron mutters.

:~:

Scowling, Ron walks into the stark room, flinching when he sees Malfoy lying there, his skin so pale that it looks sickly against the white of the linens.

There's a chair next to the bed and a mirror hung over a chest of drawers opposite that. Ron can't help but to think that this is probably the least luxurious place Malfoy has ever spent time, save the bloodied battlefield. A small window overlooking an obviously fake mountain stream is a few feet from the head of the bed. Ron has the inexplicable desire to rearrange the bed somehow so Malfoy could see out.

If he'd bloody well wake up, that is.

He looks around again, feeling completely idiotic for agreeing to this. Rocking on his heels, Ron decides to sit for a spell.

"Malfoy," he says, and pauses when his voice cracks. He's been assured that he has complete privacy here, but he still feels exposed somehow. "Er... how's it going?"

Malfoy doesn't stir.

The day passes in near silence. Ron tries speaking at random intervals, but he's not used to the sound of his voice echoing here in this bare room, and stops almost as soon as he starts. At one point in the afternoon, he catches himself on the sharp end of a drowsy head bob and curses under his breath.

This is bloody stupid, he thinks with a scowl.

:~:

Six days later, Malfoy still hasn't moved a whit. Ron's become a bit more accustomed to the sound of his own voice but still can't believe that he's actually been roped into doing this. Every other day, one of the Healers comes in to ask him about Malfoy's progress and Ron has to tell him there's been no change and suffer the penetrating, critical stare.

He looks out the window and sighs, wishing for a book to read or something to pass the time.

:~:

_The library at Hogwarts is relatively empty, Ron notices as he heads in. He has only a few minutes until he has to get back, they have class soon, and he begged off saying he had to run to the library._

_Hermione had looked inordinately pleased to hear that and he'd blushed deep red when she smiled at him. He couldn't tell her that it was just to renew a school book that he hadn't been able to afford and checked out secretly from the library as soon as they got to Hogwarts._

_He'd been heading back every three weeks to renew the book when his friends were otherwise occupied. This afternoon, when he goes to the desk, Madam Pince frowns at him, "Another student has requested this book."_

_"What?" Ron asks. "But, I-"_

_"You can't be hoarding all of the great literature, Weasley," a voice drawls._

_"Malfoy," he says, narrowing his eyes and turning around._

_"Some of us need access to the books in the library, Weasley."_

_"I'm sure you have your own copy, git."_

_"Be that as it may, I still have requested this book, and you'll have to wait now until I'm done with it before you can do your homework."_

_"Bugger off, Malfoy."_

_"Now, now... don't make me angry or I might not return it too quickly."_

_Ron frowns and stalks toward the entrance. It's not worth it to argue. He'll just have to borrow Harry's._

_Again._

:~:

Ron now has a stack of fourteen books at his feet, unwilling to spend another day without a few distractions. After an off-the-cuff comment he made to Hermione the previous day, she offered to check out several books for him from the library, but he'd declined.

"I have my own books, thanks, Hermione," he'd said, thinking of the impressive collection of books he'd amassed (and read!) over the past few years.

They'd argued for a moment, Hermione insisting that he'd find nothing related to what he was doing in those books, and he'd conceded simply because he wasn't in the mood for dealing with her.

It's almost absurd. Did she mean to pick the thickest, most dense looking books he's ever laid eyes on? Seriously, who really chooses books like _A Brief History of Physical Spells, Vol. 8_ or _So, You Finally Want to Learn Everything You Ignored in School?_

Shaking his head, Ron rests his feet on the stack of books and continues his monologue. Since yesterday, he's been detailing aloud every wrong Malfoy ever committed against his family or friends, hoping that it'll wake him out of his stupor. It's sort of cathartic to be able to tell Malfoy what a bloody git he was without fear of reprisal. He's made it through third year so far.

There's still a lot more to go.

:~:

_Human touch has tremendous curative powers,_ Ron reads aloud a few days later. _However, the two parties must have an emotional connection for the spell to work. A great deal of research has been done on this subject, but sadly, a large majority was lost in the Great Fire of 1949._

He pauses, looking at Malfoy curiously and remembering how he'd reacted when Ron had touched him nearly a fortnight ago.

:~:

"Shagged anyone new lately?" Seamus asks as soon as he sits down.

Ron looks up and shakes his head, "I can't even begin to tell you how many things are wrong with that question."

Seamus laughs. "Well, if you're interested, there's a bird in _Policy and Privacy_ with a fantastic bum and a bloke that works with your da who looks a lot like the Scottish lad you were shagging not too long ago."

"Seamus. That was over _eight months_ ago."

"Really? Wow. Time just flies, yeah?" Seamus reaches for his tea and grins. "So, yeh want me to put in a good word with either of them?"

"Merlin, Seamus, can't anyone-"

"How's the new project going?" Seamus cuts Ron off mid-sentence and smiles apologetically.

Ron rolls his eyes. "Are you kidding me?"

"No good then, aye?"

"Bloody bastard won't move. Or wake up. I'm about to go stark raving mad."

"Maybe you need a change in tactic, then?"

"What can I _do_ though, Seamus?" Ron says. "I'm not a Healer. I don't know what I'm doing. They just think I have some special power because he moved when I touched him on the battlefield."

"And in the hospital," Seamus nods.

"How did you know about that?" Ron says immediately.

"Everyone does, mate," Seamus says. "Well. At least, we all do. Dean asked Harry about it after you all came back. It was because you... well, with _Hermione_."

"Yeah," Ron says, nodding. "Because I... yeah."

Harry walks in as they're talking and listens for a moment. He watches Ron before giving him a look and holding his hands as if to say _what have you got to lose?_ Ron nods and scowls. He knows that he should try it, but, well...

What if it _works_?

:~:

Ron has taken to reading aloud to Malfoy, in between bouts of extolling the lack of virtue that Malfoy exhibited when they were at school. He walks around the room as he reads, never one to sit in the same place for hours on end. The book he's reading now is a Muggle mystery novel and he's half expecting Malfoy to wake up just to complain about his choice of literature.

Before he reads, though, he always spends the first hour scrutinizing what he can see of Malfoy without touching him, checking his colour and making sure he's breathing regularly.

It's odd the things he's noticed in such deep study: Malfoy's lashes are slightly darker than his skin, and very full. The lashes on his left eye are thicker than those on his right, something Ron didn't realize was possible.

Also, Malfoy grows facial hair slower than any person Ron's ever met. Even Neville sports a relative shadow after three days of not shaving, but in the past weeks, Ron has only had to call for a depilatory charm twice.

Malfoy has a series of scars in random places on his body that Ron can see, one just at the side of his mouth, and several on his arms. There's one on the inside of his forearm that surprises Ron. He glances down at the faint, reddened scar on his own forearm from his battle with the brains in the Department of Mysteries and thinks about having things in common with someone you're supposed to detest.

It's almost an irony of fate.

He leans more closely this time, fascinated by the scent that washes over him. It's clean and almost... pleasant. Doesn't quite seem possible to him. He inhales again and moves to sit on the edge of the bed. His movement dislodges the blanket, revealing a bit of Malfoy's bare stomach where his bedshirt has ridden up. He tries to swallow, but his throat has gone dry.

Malfoy has a thin trail of hair down the centre of his abdomen and Ron reaches out unconsciously for the blanket.

"Weasley," one of the Healers chirps brightly as she enters the room, and Ron quickly pretends he hadn't been about to tug down the blanket to see if Malfoy really _was_ a big prick.

:~:

When the Healer trainees come in to bathe and do routine diagnostic spells, Ron always wanders down to the cafeteria for a cup of tea and three scones. He's never quite got the hang of baking himself, and he knows the head cook, Melvorina Wattle, uses his mum's recipe, so they're always fantastic.

Ron walks into Hermione's office. He can barely balance his tea and scones, he's so rattled by what just (nearly) happened.

Looking around, he frowns. He's still not used to the idea of an 'open-office' or however she calls it. An office is supposed to be a private place where you can slam the door, sneak a quick nap, or stuff it full of insane and useless artefacts, like his father has done.

He sees her bushy head bent over a book, looking back and forth between a stack of parchment that she's furiously writing upon, nodding as she goes.

Even now, he's not used to this weekly check-in she seems so keen on. He drops into the chair next to her. "Oi, Hermione," he says.

"Ron, hi," she says. "Let me just finish this thought."

Six minutes later, he's still waiting. "Uh, Hermione?"

"Sorry, I'm just getting this ready for Warnerton."

"Shouldn't he be doing that for you?"

"Why?"

"Aren't you his boss?"

"Ron, we all work together here; we don't bother ourselves with trifles like titles and the like."

He nods, but knows better. As much as Hermione wants everything to be on even footing, she feels a bit of pride over the fact that her name is the one on top of the door plate, with everyone else's name in much smaller type below it.

Ron thinks it's all well and good to keep everyone on the same level, but hell, if he had someone that was supposed to do all his ruddy paperwork, he'd take them up on it in a second.

"Have you had any success with him?" Hermione asks, finally looking up from her work.

Ron looks at her, jiggling his leg and wondering why they still _do_ this. "What do you think?"

She takes a scone from the napkin Ron put on her desk and says quietly, "I think you haven't done a thing. I think you're worried that if you try the spell again, there might be some sort of reaction, but you're not ready to do it yet."

Ron stares at the steam curling upward from his tea and frowns.

"Hermione, he was such a bastard. I have a hard time believing that you've forgiven him."

"He was, yes. But it's been years now, hasn't it? We've known for years that..." she purses her lips and changes direction evenly, "You know that there have been rumblings for the past two years that the information coming in from inside the Death Eaters was from him. How do you know that he hasn't changed?"

Ron doesn't answer her. Never does anymore when she gets into moods like this.

She is quiet for a long time before looking down at her unadorned fingers and whispering, " _You_ changed."

:~:

_The air is buzzing and he can't even think._

_Harry is long gone the other way - they separated hours ago, and the tracking spells don't work here with all of the wayward magic crackling in the air. He's close to her; he can feel it._

_Hermione's body is abandoned on the top of a small hill, stones placed around her in a sort of runic formation that he doesn't understand. Panic rises inside him at the sight of her body, and Ron takes a deep breath. He can't let it distract him. Stepping over the stones carefully, he ignores the way his muscles ache to run, run, pick her the hell up and cradle her in his arms because... fuck. What would he do without her?_

_With trembling limbs, he reaches her and forces himself to put down his wand and check her vital signs. He allows himself a brief moment to tenderly push her unruly hair away from her wan face and he looks down at her though the blurriness of tears._

_There had been something Hermione had been researching, a spell in case Harry had ever needed one of them to save him. It's a long shot - never even tested out - but he's desperate. What if-_

_"Hermione," he whispers, his voice breaking. With a sturdy breath and a set to his shoulders, Ron closes his eyes and prays that it will work..._

:~:

He's been coming here for nearly three weeks and he's running out of excuses. The Ministry has sort of given him carte blanche because of his success with Hermione, but he's starting to sense that the Healers are a bit impatient.

After the initial strangeness, Ron has almost started to enjoy the time he spends inside the pale walls. It's sort of... nice. Certainly much nicer than any other time he'd spent with Draco Malfoy. It was the only time that he'd ever been around him when the damn git wasn't talking.

Ron leans back in the chair and stares critically at Malfoy. He's already talked through every bit of wrong doing that he'd ever blamed him for and now...

He's at a loss for what he can do except what he's supposedly there for, and he's not really sure whether he's ready for that.

Yet.

:~:

_Ron sits at the table, staring at a bottle of Firewhiskey he can't bring himself to drink. It was the last thing Charlie ever gave to him, and it just feels... wrong, somehow._

_Hermione walks in and brushes his shoulder lightly with her fingertips, "You're up again."_

_He flinches, not able to look at her. It's too much, everything. Guilt, paranoia, and regret have compounded in his stomach over the past weeks and he can't even stand to touch her._

_And she knows. He knows she does. She's known since before he could make sense of it himself._

_"I can't do this," he whispers._

:~:

Reading aloud has become almost unconscious for him, and Ron thinks that if they never let him go back to his old job, maybe he can get a job reading books aloud for those Muggle audiola tapes - or whatever they're called - his father told him about. He'd never actually heard one, but learned about them when Hermione had patiently explained to his father that the battery went into the playback device and not through the little nubbed holes in the centre.

Walking around the room as he reads, Ron gestures with his hands and is generally quite dramatic. He really had no idea he had this in him. In the fourth turn around the room, he waves his right arm wildly, knocking into the lamp on Malfoy's bedside table. He sees it wobble as if in slow motion and panics, realizing that it's going to fall directly onto Malfoy's head. Dropping the book, he rushes to catch the lamp, skidding and teetering precariously for a moment before he finds his balance and freezes just above Malfoy.

His heart pounds inside his chest, it feels like it's migrated into his eardrums it's so loud. Blinking, Ron can see the scar next to Malfoy's lip and he can't help but wonder what it would feel like under his tongue.

_Fuck,_ this is wrong. This is twice as wrong as having inappropriate dreams and definitely not what he's supposed to be doing here. Stumbling, Ron backs up against the wall, his mind reeling. Something twinges in the pit of his stomach and the familiar tingles flow through him again.

No.

No, this is _wrong._

:~:

"Why do we even care about Malfoy?" Ron says to Harry the next morning. He's already two hours late to St. Mungo's, but fuck all if he cares.

"There's something," Harry says, flipping the eggs with a complicated wrist movement and then carrying the plates over to the table. "But, I guess I don't really think about it that much."

Ron eats for a moment, thinking. "Who knowth if he'th even thtill on our thide," he says with his mouth full.

"Hell if I know," Harry says. "But why wouldn't he be?"

"How do you not know? You're supposed to have high security clearance. Hermione does."

Harry snorts. "They don't tell me much anymore. Don't like it that I tell you everything. Said that defeats the purpose of having confidential conversations." He shrugs. "Not really my problem."

"I tell you everything, too," Ron says quickly.

:~:

_The corridor is quiet as Ron walks back toward Gryffindor tower. It's been a long day, and he just wants to collapse on the sofa and do nothing. He sees Malfoy coming down the other way and almost turns back._

_He just can't deal with Malfoy right now._

_"Weasel," Malfoy says with a smile, "Just trying to find you. I have a present for you."_

_"Bugger off, Malfoy," Ron says._

_"Go on. You probably don't ever get presents what with your family being... " he lowers his voice into a dramatic stage whisper, "...destitute."_

_Ron brushes past him, but Malfoy reaches out and grasps his shoulder. "Don't you want your present?"_

_Every nerve is on fire with the anger he is repressing. Hermione always said to ignore Malfoy, and damned if Ron was trying, but the bloody git wouldn't let up._

_"Go bug someone who cares," Ron says, starting to walk off again, but something heavy lands at his feet with a loud bump._

_Ron stares down at the library book that Malfoy had claimed from him. "You bastard," he hisses, turning to look at Malfoy._

_"Oh, didn't you want it back?" Malfoy asks innocently._

_"Fuck you," Ron says. "We were done with this book a week ago."_

_Malfoy looks at him and doesn't move and suddenly it's all too much. Ron stalks toward him and pushes Malfoy roughly against the wall. "Git," he hisses. "I hate you, bloody hate you!"_

_Malfoy's staring at him, not moving, almost daring him to do something. Ron hesitates only a moment before hauling his hand back and punching Malfoy in the stomach. A moment later, they're tangled together on the floor, writhing and clawing and throwing punches at any unprotected body part they can find. Adrenaline surges through Ron, tingling it's way through every part of him until he's on fire._

_Malfoy's on top of him, blood smeared across his lip and his eyes feral. Ron squirms under him, trying to gain purchase on something so he can flip over. When Malfoy leans over, their hips shift and Ron freezes when he feels something new, something... good. Something twists deep in the pit of his stomach, and his mind fuzzes._

_"Never forget that I got the better of you," Malfoy whispers, and Ron feels a warm, wet track under his ear before Malfoy disengages himself and glides off._

_Later, when he walks into the common room, Hermione and Harry notice the blood on his neck, but neither of them says a word._

:~:

"You know something about Malfoy," Ron says to Hermione without preamble when he walks into her office.

"What-" she starts.

"Don't do this, Hermione. Just tell me."

:~:

Ron spends most of the next three hours scowling at Malfoy. This is not what he planned when he agreed to this whole thing. Now all he does is drink tea, read aloud, and stare at someone whose pinched face used to drive him up the bloody wall.

He sits up in his chair, his body tense.

The thing Ron can't let go of is the fact that, with the exception of the idiotic _Weasley is my King_ song during fifth year that actually did shake Ron's confidence quite brutally, every dig Malfoy had ever come up with was stupid and petty and completely childish.

So why had it bothered him so much?

What sort of pathetic excuse for a Wizard was he when an idiotic Slytherin could get his hackles up with a few misplaced insults?

Sort of fucked up, he thinks now, rising from his chair and starting to pace around the room. His skin tingles with an odd sort of anticipation and his mind churns with memories on a dizzying loop in his mind.

Malfoy still hasn't stirred and Ron is suddenly furious. "You fucking prick," he hisses, stalking over to the bed and glaring down at him. "I can't believe you've wasted all of my time here these weeks and you're not even moving. What are you trying to prove? What?"

The sudden desire to _touch_ fills him and Ron wants to claw at his skin to make it go away.

Ron's heart is pounding and the window rattles in its pane behind him, shattering. Ron looks at it wildly; it's rare that magic rises from his body. He stares at Malfoy in confusion. It actually hasn't happened since...

_Oh, god._

Other memories crackle to life - ones he hasn't had the courage to think about - and Ron pushes them down. There is something completely fucked up about this entire thing.

He walks around the room like a caged animal, his hands tingling and his mind raw. He just... he wants... _god_ , he has to get out of here.

:~:

"The thing is," Ron says, "He was such a git before."

Seamus, Harry, and Dean all look at one another and reach for their glasses simultaneously.

"I don't really think about it anymore. I guess I sort of believe Malfoy," Dean says.

"But he's not even awake!"

"But Ron, obviously the Ministry is okay with him or else they wouldn't let you two be alone together. No one seemed to have a real problem with him, and after he started passing-" Dean claps a hand over his mouth and his eyes widen.

Harry snorts. "See? Everyone has trouble keeping their security clearance. Not just me."

Seamus deftly changes the subject and Ron decides the best solution anyway is to get pissed, which he does skilfully and deliberately.

There aren't too many patrons left at the pub when they've stopped telling war stories, but Ron couldn't care less. The bartender hasn't yet started glaring at them, so they're still good.

"I guess," Harry says after Seamus and Dean have stumbled home to pass out, "we both sort of had our own obsession with Malfoy. Just... mine was a bit more superficial."

:~:

Lying in bed the next night, Ron can hear muffled grunts and the clang of a belt being dropped onto the wooden floor. He'd pull the blankets over his head, but then everything would be all stuffy and he'd never get any sleep.

It's about time Harry got some, seriously, but doesn't Susan have her own damn flat?

He doesn't begrudge Harry the shag opportunity, not in the least. It's just been so long since he had one - male or female - that he wonders if he's forgotten how. As he reaches for his wand to cast a Silencing charm, Ron wonders what it would feel like to be wanted again... truly, achingly _wanted._

:~:

Ron wakes with the feeling that something big is going to happen and he can't shake it. It takes him four breaths before he remembers that he's at his own flat. He showers absently, having to remind himself to rinse the shampoo from his hair, and rushes around his bedroom, pulling trousers and shirts from the floor, sniffing the underarms before pulling on the one that smells the least foul.

Stumbling out of his bedroom, Ron zips his trousers as he scans the floor for a matching pair of trainers. Harry's on the sofa tangled with Susan and looking inordinately pleased with himself, even in sleep. He wakes briefly as Ron stumbles around and blinks at him, "All right, Ron?"

"Yeah, don't get up," Ron says in a rush. "M'late."

Harry squints at the clock. "It's early yet."

"Right, I know. I'll see you later." He leaves and within minutes is at St. Mungo's.

:~:

The sun has just started to rise, so the filtered (charmed) light that spills through the window is hazy and diffused. Ron pauses for a long moment, feeling incapable of forming a coherent thought.

He has the strangest feeling that if he does this... nothing will ever be the same again.

His hands move almost of their own accord, rubbing together for a minute before he sets his shoulders and places his crossed hands over Malfoy's heart and closes his eyes. It's been so long, he doesn't even know if he's doing it right.

:~:

"You have _got_ to be kidding me."

Ron can feel his own mouth drop open when he walks back into Malfoy's room, but he can't respond to the incredulous (albeit hoarse and scratchy) voice because he's too shocked. The attempt at healing had made him feel weak, and he'd left for a few moments to get a cup of tea.

"I can't believe this. I wake up in some idiotically sterile room and the first person I see is a _Weasley_?" Malfoy looks around for something, scowling, and Ron thinks that his colour looks better. Then he scowls back.

Ron wonders if the Healers have sensors in the room to know that Malfoy is up now, or at least somewhat up. He can't find his own voice yet; the sight in front of him is in such contrast to what he's used to seeing in this room that it seems to be taking his mind a long time to incorporate this into his reality.

"Bugger," Malfoy says, "Look at what they've got me wearing."

Ron can't help it. He snickers.

"What are you laughing at?" Malfoy says, frowning.

Laughter bubbles up inside him and Ron explodes with laughter, feeling tears leak from his eyes and his stomach begin to ache. He doubles over, helpless against it, not even looking at Malfoy anymore, just laughing at the sheer fact that he cannot stop _laughing._

After a few minutes, he takes a deep breath, waves, and walks out of the room.

Malfoy hasn't said a word.

:~:

"Where in the hell did you go?" Malfoy asks when Ron walks in the next day.

"What do you mean?"

"You walked out of here yesterday morning and no one heard a thing from you all day."

"Oh, did you miss me?" Ron asks sweetly. "I should have realized you'd need someone to boss around. Sorry, I should have arranged a house elf or a gorilla-like creature to sit next to your bed and grunt at you."

Malfoy looks at him for a moment, his eyes narrowing. Ron almost opens his mouth to apologise, to tell Malfoy that sorry, he really shouldn't be insulting the invalids, especially ones that have a sore lack of brain, but Malfoy grabs his pillow and launches it across the room, so that it hits Ron in the face.

Ron pauses for only a second before launching it back at Malfoy.

:~:

It goes like this for the next few days. The Ministry isn't quite ready to let Ron stop going, even though he points out that he's done everything they wanted him to do. To pass the time, he and Malfoy shoot well-timed insults at each other in between diagnostic spells and disgruntled Healers.

They've also taken to throwing balls of parchment at a receptacle on the other side of the room. Malfoy's aim is piss-poor, but he won't concede defeat, and Ron certainly isn't going to be graceful and assure Malfoy of any impending victory.

When one of the Healers walks in and finds parchment balls strewn around the room, she _humphs_ in disgust and turns to walk out.

Ron catches Malfoy's eye and starts laughing. They laugh until one of the trainees walks in to check on them.

"Oh," she says, looking around surprised. "I thought one of you had hexed the other one into some sort of insane laughter."

"No," Malfoy says. "But that's a good idea. Thanks."

:~:

"How did I get here?" Malfoy asks one morning when Ron walks in.

"No good morning?" Ron says. "Didn't your family teach you any sort of manners?"

"Good morning, you prick, how did I get here?" Malfoy says with a dramatic roll of his eyes.

"Better," Ron says. "You can learn."

Malfoy sighs and shakes his head. "Are you getting me tea or do I have to use manners for that as well?"

"You might want to try. It's amazing what people'll do for you when you ask nicely."

"It's amazing what people'll do when you order them around, too," Malfoy says.

"Doesn't work that way for me, Malfoy. Nice try, though."

Before Malfoy can open his mouth, Ron steps out of the room to get tea and a few scones. The food that the Healers try to give Malfoy is nutritionally balanced, but looks about as appetizing as Manticore tongue.

"How did I get here?" Malfoy asks when Ron walks back in. He reaches out for the tea and inhales deeply. "Thanks," he says quietly.

It isn't much, but it's a start.

:~:

"Why won't you tell me how I got here?" Malfoy asks a few days later. "You always change the subject."

"Security clearance," Ron says easily. "It's strictly on a 'need to know' basis."

"And I don't need to know because-?"

"You don't have that kind of clearance."

"That's a bloody crock."

It may well be, but it sure sounds a lot better than the real story, as far as Ron's concerned.

"How come you don't have the Dark Mark?" Ron asks. "What _have_ you been doing these last years?"

Malfoy looks at him, his eyes guarded. "Security clearance," he says. "On a strictly 'need to know' basis."

They develop an odd sort of truce after that.

:~:

_A dark cloak flashes in front of him and Ron is on the figure in an instant, wrapping his arm tightly around the smaller body and pointing his wand to their throat._

_"Don't move, don't talk. Don't even_ breathe _," he hisses as a strange rush of magic courses through him. He's got Hermione carefully hidden while he awaits some Order members, but he's not taking any chances._

_Ron almost drops his wand when his prisoner says, "Weasley? Fuck."_

_Letting him go, Ron watches Malfoy turn around quickly. Moments pass and they say nothing._

_The wind gusts, rushing through Ron's hair and billowing Malfoy's large sleeves. Ron's eyes flicker to Malfoy's forearm and he makes an instant decision. He reaches out and grasps it lightly, looking down._

_Ron feels the strong surge of magic again and looks back up at Malfoy, his heart pounding._

_"You-" he starts._

_Shouts echo in the distance as the air crackles with Apparition. Malfoy doesn't say anything, but presses his lips together as though keeping himself from speaking._

_Unspoken agreement passes between them and they both step back, letting the other go._

_Ron doesn't even watch Malfoy hurry away as he moves to pick up Hermione._

:~:

Ron finally gives in and tells Malfoy a bit about the spell that saved him.

Malfoy is sleeping when Ron arrives with tea and scones, so Ron puts them both on the bedside table and sits down. He watches the slow rise and fall of Malfoy's breath and looks around the entire room, cataloguing all of the different cracks and imperfections in the wall and noting that the stain beside the window is starting to look remarkably like his Great Aunt Tessa.

He catches himself counting, all the way to four hundred fifty seven before he realizes it. Jiggling his leg, Ron wonders if Seamus is in the office today and if he might be up for a bit of a drop by when Malfoy finally stirs.

Ron lets out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

Malfoy blinks a few times and yawns before he stretches and meets Ron's eyes.

"Morning," he says in a rough voice.

"Morning," Ron echoes.

"That tea for me?"

"Yeah. Just brought it. Didn't even start my own yet."

"Yeah? Mum Weasley must have taught you some manners," but Malfoy's eyes soften for a moment, so briefly Ron might have imagined it.

Ron gets up to hand Malfoy his tea and points his wand to open the blinds. He sits again and they drink in silence for a moment.

"Look, I know you're going to keep asking, so I might as well tell you," Malfoy says, not meeting Ron's eyes.

"Don't do me any favours," Ron says automatically, but sounds hollow to him. He almost regrets it, takes it back. He almost _apologises._

"I did a lot, but all behind the scenes, so they can all avoid talking about me," Malfoy says, going on as though Ron hadn't spoken.

Malfoy tells him how he got a few of the scars on his body. When Ron asks how he was able to avoided being branded with the Dark Mark, Malfoy says simply, "I wasn't going to let that damn thing mar my perfect skin."

Ron's fascinated, almost in spite of himself, when Malfoy talks about the inner workings of the Death Eaters. It sounds so bloody surreal. He had no idea there was such an unspoken hierarchy, and the fact that Malfoy can talk about it with such detached candor is... well, it's bloody amazing, really.

He's never heard Malfoy talk for such an uninterrupted period of time, and he can't help feeling a bit of awe. His tea is sitting, mostly untouched, in his hand.

When Malfoy finishes, there's a good bit of silence before Ron can feel his cheeks heat up. They both cough and look away.

Ron starts speaking before his courage wanes. He's already describing things to Malfoy before his mind cottons on to what he's doing and he slows down immediately. Malfoy's expression looks carefully guarded, but his fingers are tight in the blankets covering his thighs.

It doesn't take too long to finish, especially when he's being deliberately vague about everything.

Ron can't explain too many of the circumstances surrounding the spell that healed Malfoy; he's just not ready for what Malfoy might think. Because, really: what the hell do you say to someone when you're not even sure what to make of it yourself?

:~:

It's odd how their discussion of Draco Malfoy has changed over the years. At Hogwarts, it was littered with curses, angry stories, and wishes for spells to cover his face with unsightly spots.

"He's just normal now, I guess," Dean says, nodding slightly. "It's the only word I can think of to explain it. Normal like he never was. He was always sort of... uptight and stodgy before."

Harry nods. "He's calmer now. Actually, he's really funny."

Ron watches them, drinking his lager and not saying a word.

"You know, it's real fun to hold grudges," Seamus says. "But I've just decided to hold them for things that matter. Namely, the birds that won't sleep with me."

Dean snorts, "So, you mean the whole of London, then?"

:~:

Later, Malfoy is explaining how he got the scar next to his mouth and Ron laughs at him. "Fuck off, Malfoy. There is no such thing as that sort of hex."

Malfoy is indignant. "Yes there is. There is a tell tale curve at the very top that proves that it was hurled from behind someone's back as they were riding away on horseback."

Ron walks closer and leans down squinting. "I don't see any hook."

"Oh, hell, Weasley, what are you - blind?" Malfoy says impatiently. "It's right here." He reaches out to take Ron's hand and presses his index finger along the length of the scar.

Ron traces it slowly; he does feel a slight ridge at the top and leans down to look more closely, "Wow, Malfoy, you're right, it's-"

He freezes, suddenly realizing how close they are and that Malfoy is holding his hand lightly and it feels really good.

"I-" he swallows.

Malfoy doesn't say a word, just leans towards him.

Ron can see the pale flutter of Malfoy's eyelashes. He licks his lips in anticipation and leans forward. Malfoy's breath brushes his lips. It feels warm and smells like cinnamon tea. Closing his eyes, Ron presses their lips together once before-

"Ron!" Harry says, knocking on the door frame before walking in.

They spring apart, Ron clasping his hands behind his back and Malfoy suddenly busying himself with smoothing his blankets.

"Malfoy," Harry nods.

"Potter. Hi," Malfoy says, stiffly polite.

Harry turns to Ron, "Look, I know you're at work, it's just... Fred's just got married and didn't tell anyone. Your mum's about to do her nut."

"Bugger," Ron says, racing toward the door. With both Charlie and Ginny gone, it's always him nowadays that seems to run family interference.

My, how times have changed.

:~:

The next day, Ron can hear voices echoing down the corridor as he walks down, balancing two cups of tea in one hand as he tries to dig into his pocket for his wand with the other.

It's Hermione's voice, and it sounds almost... apologetic. He knows Hermione has been to see Malfoy several times since he woke up, but he's just not interested in sitting outside the room while they're in there together.

Not today. Not ever.

:~:

Two hours later, Ron goes back and he sees Malfoy lying there, staring at the ceiling. "Hey," he says quietly.

Malfoy doesn't say anything and it feels a lot like it used to before Ron made him wake up.

Ron sits down heavily in the chair and puts a steaming cup of tea on the bedside table. It's ridiculous that he now knows how Malfoy takes his tea.

"I guess Hermione told you?"

"Most everyone in the outside world thinks I'm dead."

"Oh. Yeah, well, I meant the other stuff."

Malfoy looks at him, "You mean how I was bloodied, hexed, and left for dead on the battlefield by a few people that had been my friends since before I could walk?"

Ron blinks, "No. Yes. Well, I guess, but I meant-"

"You mean how it was you and Potter that found me and brought me here like a couple of knights in shining armour so I could be healed like the good little Death Eater spy that I am? How you're both such fresh-faced Gryffindors that you can't stay away from anything and you probably got yourself assigned to do some menial job so you could be reminded what a hero you were for saving me? One of your enemies?"

He shifts uncomfortably in his chair and looks down at the floor. "Well. It's not _all_ right, no. I mean, yeah, that's some of it. It's just... there's something else."

"What is it?"

Pressing his lips together, Ron thinks about everything that has transpired between them in the past week. He can't believe he's about to undo everything, but... if nothing else, he suddenly feels like Malfoy deserves to know the truth.

Right?

"Well, it's just that... it wasn't them-"

Malfoy cocks his head and frowns, "What are you talking about, Weasley?"

"It's just... I... healed you."

"You did?"

"Yeah.

"You? With the spell you told me about?" Malfoy asks immediately.

"Yeah."

"The one Hermione created, that no one else has been able to replicate, except you?"

"Yeah, I-"

"The one that you tried to use on your brother and didn't work? The one you haven't been able to save anyone else with it but some Witch you were in love with and now _me_? And it took you three bloody weeks to do it?"

Ron wonders who Malfoy has been talking to that he knows so much of this. "Sort of, I... yeah."

"Get. _Out_." Malfoy says coldly.

:~:

In the middle of the night, Ron sits straight up in bed, his heart pounding and his throat dry. He can't shake the feeling that something is wrong, out of place, and he can't think but to roll out of bed and grab his wand.

It takes him less than two minutes to get to the Ministry. He can barely even feel his mind working, he's so focused on getting to Malfoy's room. He can't see too well, as his mind is still fogged and the corridors are lit with the barest of lights. When he gets into Malfoy's room, he can't see him at first - the bed is empty. He finally spots Malfoy pacing, out of the light of the window, and his heart seizes.  
  
Malfoy's eyes are wide and he looks strangely small in the shadows.

"Malfoy," Ron says, startled, and moves toward him. "What have you-"

"What the hell?" Malfoy says, his voice hoarse and raw. "Why did you... how did you- you weren't supposed to-"

Malfoy stumbles toward him, choking back a sob, and Ron reaches out to catch him. When their stomachs brush, Ron feels something inexplicable shudder through him. Everything falls from his mind in this moment and he reaches to pull Malfoy deliberately against him. He doesn't know how or why, but suddenly they're kissing, hot and hard, and he's never, _never_ , kissed anyone like this. Exquisite pleasure stings his eyes and he has to fight to keep them open. It's almost like fighting: this clash of lips, this grappling of fingertips over bared skin. Malfoy pulls him toward the bed and they fall onto it, rolling over until Ron is above, perched on his elbows. They barely stop to breathe.  
  
Malfoy looks up at him, his eyes glittering in the light, mouth reddened and full. His hands are _everywhere._

Ron makes a harsh sound in the back of his throat and rolls over so Malfoy's on top. " _Please_ ," he whispers. Nothing has ever felt so strangely right in his life, and he wonders if anything ever will.

Malfoy pulls Ron's hands up over his head and holds them there as he rocks their bodies together. Ron whispers inane things like "oh," and "yes," and " _god,_ don't stop." Malfoy is pliant and flexible, twisting and rocking against him until Ron is so hard he can barely move.

The dry fabric of their trousers starts to sting and Ron pulls one of his wrists away to reach between them and untie the drawstring of Malfoy's pyjama pants. Malfoy sits up and pulls off his shirt, tossing it to the floor carelessly. Ron does the same, watching Malfoy hungrily as he steps off the bed and pulls off his pyjamas.

As he climbs back onto the bed, Ron rolls off to shed his own clothing. With an unnatural surge of strength, Ron drags the bed into the moonlight, watching Malfoy's body shine like a fucking beacon.

"Want you," Malfoy pants, reaching out for him. "Ron."

He leans down to kiss Malfoy, their mouths are a tangle of lips, teeth, and tongue, and Ron thanks Merlin that kissing was ever fucking invented in the first place. Ron wants everything, and he suddenly doesn't care about any of the ramifications of this, because he's just as sure that Malfoy wants everything, too.

At least right now.

Malfoy twists against him, trailing a hand down his back and sliding a finger between the cleft of Ron's arse. Ron thrusts suddenly at the sensation, and Malfoy makes what sounds like a tiny whimper before Ron closes their mouths together again. Malfoy tastes like everything he didn't know he'd been imagining for years. It's not good so much as it is perfect or glorious or _inevitable._

With another sudden twist, Malfoy pulls his knees up toward his chest and looks at Ron deliberately. "Yes," he whispers.

Rising up, Ron reaches for his wand and charms a bit of lubricant into his palm. It's really been so bloody long since he had a shag, but, well, maybe he hasn't forgotten how. He slides a good amount over Malfoy's hole, rubbing it around in circles before pushing one finger inside him. He can feel the muscles clenching and relaxing around him, and he waits a moment before starting to move his finger. A minute later, he starts to add another finger, when Malfoy interrupts him,

" _More._ "

Ron glances at him, so ready to drive deep inside him, but-

"C'mon," Malfoy is almost impatient, pushing back at him, so Ron slides lube over his cock, pulls out his fingers, and starts to push slowly inside. Fucking _hell._

Malfoy's brow is furrowed and his face contorts as Ron moves.

"Malfoy- _Draco_?" Ron asks in panic. "Are you-"

"M'fine," Malfoy pants. "It's just a bit... startling."

Ron slows down until he's barely moving, the effort of which is driving him slowly mad. Malfoy rocks his hips against him again, digging at Ron's back with his heel and Ron drops onto his hands, starting to move in a slow rhythm _in-out-slow-quick-slow_ and Malfoy whimpers again just before Ron kisses him.

He can't get enough of this, their bodies slapping together, the quiet sighs Malfoy makes every time Ron drives in roughly. The slippery heat of being tightly surrounded is overwhelming. Ron thinks he might start to say stupidly embarrassing things if he doesn't watch out.

Malfoy reaches between them to grasp his own cock and Ron can barely even focus. His extremities are starting to tingle painfully and all he can think is _need_ and _Malfoy_ and _more._ Rocking back again, Malfoy pants shallowly and looks as if he's trying to fight against something deep inside him.

"C'mon," Ron pants, so bloody close that he can practically taste his own ragged breath, "come. Draco, _come._ " Malfoy shudders and lets go, spasming around Ron like a goddamn _vice_. Ron thrusts two more times, the blood pounding in his head and... and, he- _god_ , he's just-

Oh, god. Oh, _god._

He soars and twists as molten waves of bliss shoot under his skin and he cries out, his body jerking with the exquisite ache of release.

After a long moment, they pull apart. Malfoy reaches for the blankets and folds himself around Ron underneath them. Later, he can't remember who fell asleep first.

:~:

They're oddly silent in the morning. Ron starts to feel overwhelmed, moving around too much and touching everything in the room twice as he tries to put it back into some semblance of order. Malfoy watches him with wide eyes and doesn't speak.

:~:

When the Healers come to do the diagnostic spells, Ron goes down to the cafeteria to get tea and scones. He can't stop fidgeting and finally sits down at one of the tables to drink his tea before he spills it over himself.

Seamus walks in, whistling and sees him there. "Hey, Ron," he says smiling and sitting down with a large cup.

Ron smiles wanly, his head propped in his hands.

"What's goin' on?"

"It's just... Malfoy."

"Ahh. Did he find out that you fancy him?"

" _What_?"

"Bugger," Seamus says. "Did you not know that you fancy him? I shouldn't'a said anything."

Ron pushes back his chair and looks at Seamus in panic. "Why do I always fuck everything up?" He walks out, heads for the exit, and Apparates home as soon as he hits the outside air.

:~:

The next morning, Ron's nearly climbing the walls. Everything feels unsettled and twisted, but somehow he finally feels... _almost_ good after so long.

Ron walks into Malfoy's room full of purpose. When he sees a reddened bruise that his own teeth made the other night, he feels a sudden jolt of desire. Maybe he has nothing to lose, right?

"Look," he says, "when you get out of here, you can always-"

When he looks right at Malfoy, the words stick in his throat and he can't speak.

Neither of them says a word.

:~:

He spends the rest of the day catching up with paperwork in Hermione's office. She doesn't say much, just keeps the pot of tea hot. He catches her giving him looks and he scowls at her.

"I know I'm doing it all wrong," he says. "I just don't know how to do it any other way."

:~:

When Ron walks down the corridor the following morning, one of the Healers intercepts him and steers him toward one of the private offices.

"What's going on?" Ron asks when he steps in.

Several people look back at him. One of the Ministry officials coughs and pulls out several sheets of important looking parchment. Ron suddenly hates important looking parchment.

"What?" he says impatiently.

"We've discharged Draco Malfoy."

"You did?"

"Yes, a few hours ago. The Ministry appreciates all of your help with his case, and you'll be receiving a commendation for your service, similar to the one you already have for your help with Ms Granger. Look for it in the post in three-"

"Where is he?" Ron asks, impatient.

"Whom? The owl that will be bringing your commendation?"

"No! Malfoy! Where is he?"

"Mr Weasley, he left already."

"Bugger," Ron says, standing up and racing down the corridor.

:~:

Malfoy's gone. The bed is stripped. Even the threadbare t-shirt Ron lent Malfoy is gone. He stands in the middle of the empty room with something inexplicably sad filling him. It's as though he's lost something that was never really his to lose.

:~:

Ron walks home, feeling oddly like he's supposed to learn some important lesson from this, but he's buggered if he can figure out what it is. His feet drag their way up the stairs and he almost forgets which flat is his.

He lets himself in and drops his satchel in surprise. "How did you get here?"

"Potter let me in," Malfoy says, standing up from the sofa. Ron can see his t-shirt on the sofa behind him and feels a sudden rush of courage.

"Look, I-," Ron starts. "I still haven't forgiven you," he finishes lamely, wondering why he even bothers to open his mouth anymore.

"For what?"

"I don't remember." Ron walks over and collapses heavily onto the couch. Malfoy watches him for a moment and then perches on the arm.

They sit in silence for several minutes. It feels familiar and... off. One of his neighbours drops something out in the corridor and both of them start in surprise, looking at each other without glancing away.

"I don't know, Malfoy," Ron says.

"Don't know what?"

Ron glares at him again, unsure why he keeps doing so. He feels impatient, crawling out of his skin with words that can't seem to make their way out into the world. Standing up suddenly, he knocks over an end table in his haste and stalks out of the room only to walk back in moments later.

"Why you? Why _me_?"

Malfoy looks at him, dumbfounded. "What?"

"What is this?"

"I don't know," Malfoy says.

"Why are we- I mean, _are_ we?" Ron is exasperated at his severe lack of vocabulary. "We wanted to kill each other back in school."

Malfoy lets out a bark of laughter, "I didn't want to kill you. Piss you off? Humiliate you? Yeah. But killing you was never part of the plan."

"I wanted to kill you," Ron says.

They pause, both sort of staring at the other for a moment.

"All right, I didn't _really_ want to kill you," he says.

"Didn't think so."

"Git."

"Wanker."

The tension in the room has fizzled into a dull murmur. Ron's mind flashes to the feel of Malfoy's lips, to the inexplicable mess he's brought into his life, and he feels... _ready._

"Look, maybe we can... uh, " Ron feels like the doubt inside him is going to swallow him whole, but he continues anyway, "... _try_?"

Malfoy looks at him - stares, really. Ron can see little flecks of blue in the grey irises as Malfoy speaks, "Your eloquence is overwhelming, truly."

"People don't fuck me for my eloquence, Malfoy," he says, sitting down again.

"People don't fuck you, period."

"You did."

"That was an oversight on my part. I've been sick. Remember the bit about me lying motionless in a hospital bed for three weeks? Takes away from my thoughtful judgment."

"You'd better decide, then. Before it returns."

Malfoy laughs. "Weasley, most everyone thinks I'm _dead_ , remember? It's not like I have much of anything to lose anymore or a reputation to protect."

"Oh, brilliant answer. You're such a git," Ron says, a smile breaking over his face.

Malfoy shrugs. "Takes one to know one, wouldn't you say?"

"Some more than others."

Ron watches Malfoy, noticing the deep pale of his eyelashes, the sunlight setting off his cheeks with a healthy glow. He looks ridiculously beautiful.

Reaching out to brush a strand of Malfoy's hair out of his eyes, Ron's fingers tingle again when he pulls them away. It's an ironic twist of fate, he thinks. Nothing ever seems to make sense to him, but the absurdity of what life keeps throwing at him is almost breathtaking.

"This could work, maybe. That is, if we don't kill each other first."

Malfoy smiles and slides down off of the arm of the sofa until their thighs are touching. "I'll hide your wand, and you hide mine?"

"All right," Ron laughs, shaking his head and reaching to pull Malfoy closer so he can shut the git up the only way he knows how. "It's a deal."

:~:

 

~thank you so much for reading! ♥


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